Gypsy stared across the table at Tugboat who shook his head sadly, blowing out a huff of air. He pushed away from the table, preparing to stand. Gypsy still hadn’t moved, frozen in place at the sudden realization he had to make a choice, and that choice, like each one before would have long-lasting consequences. He shoved his chair back, the legs making an obscene scraping sound. Blue Line’s head jerked sideways and he glared at Gypsy, a muscle ticking in his jaw.
“I’ve helped you before,” Blue Line said and Gypsy’s muscles locked, frozen in a crouch over his chair. Without looking away from Gypsy, Blue Line spoke to Mason. “Never asked for recompense. Offered your men welcome and sanctuary.”
“Almost got them blown up.” Mason’s counter came without heat and Gypsy eased back into his chair, carefully, hoping for a different ending than one that looked inevitable only seconds ago.
“By a club founded by your kin.”
Shocked inhalations circled the table, while from the phone came a low laugh. “He’s got you there, Mason.” Estavez sighed. “Fucking wish I had video for this. I’m guessing you’ve gathered your men by the doorway, ready to vacate, am I right?” No one answered him. “I’m right.” Estavez sighed again. “Sit down, Mason. We both need to listen to Blue Line, much as I hate to admit a policía might have an idea in his head, much less a good one. You know he’s not my favorite person.”
“You don’t like anyone,” Mason said. Unfolding his arms, he crossed back to his chair and sat. He leaned back, elbow comfortably cocked over the back of the chair. Whirling a finger in the air, he scoffed and said, “Okay. I’m listening.”
Blue Line glanced at Gypsy then Tugboat before he turned his head to stare directly at Mason. “What I’m saying is I’m done with clubs like the Outriders making life harder for all of us. You might have cut the head off the snake, but there’s still venom in that bite. I felt it this week with their actions. One of yours”—he gestured towards Gypsy—“felt it this week, because of your actions.” Mason made a dismissive sound and Blue Line shook his head. “You aligned yourself with a club down in Oz, and that came back to roost here. That tells me your brother’s club isn’t dead. Not if they have contacts and aspirations to expand again. No way they could have known what was going on in Melbourne if they didn’t have a man there.”
Blue Line paused and Mason snapped, his Kentucky accent thick, “Go on. Go ahead on and tell me what else I got wrong.”
“Jesus, Mason. That’s not what this is about.” Blue Line shoved his fingers through his hair, raking it away from his face. “This is about us needing each other more than ever, man. Can’t you see?”
“He’s right.” Gypsy didn’t mean to speak, knew he didn’t have a place at this table that warranted his involvement at this moment, but once he’d begun, he couldn’t stop the words. “We’re strong, Mason. RWMC is a force to be reckoned with, and we’re known all around the world as a top player. How many committees do we have a seat at worldwide? We’re standing alongside other clubs in foreign government hearings, riding to support the banishment of restrictive laws in other countries, and we’ve got chapters on four of the six continents in the world.”
“Seven.” Myron dropped his head, staring at the table. He muttered under his breath, “Shit.”
“What?” Gypsy gawped at him.
With a sigh, Myron said, “Seven. There are seven continents. If you count Europe and Asia as one, there are six, but most people count them separate. They’re so different, it doesn’t matter if they’re joined by a landmass.” Myron rolled his eyes. “Sorry. Go on, brother.”
“Fuck’s sake.” Mason sighed, looking up at the ceiling. “Get to the goddamned point, Gypsy.”
“My point—” He glared at Myron who curled a lip in response. “—is we’re stronger together. That’s why Blue Line called Estavez who speaks for the Machos, and it’s why you’ve already invested in the Malcontents, and the Hawks, and the Jailbreakers, and the Legends. We’re stronger together. Doesn’t matter if one club wears a support patch, or not. By sitting at a table and breaking bread, by finding places where we can support like-minded clubs, we strengthen the bonds of brotherhood. Those have never depended on wearing the same patch, and you know it. You called Bones brother long before he rolled the Skeptics into the RWMC, and you’ll call Estavez brother regardless of nationality.” He sucked in a deep breath, surprised at his sudden conviction, unsure if this was the right place to say it, but remembering Kelsey’s face as she cuddled with Belle on Joel’s couch decided him. Nary was stronger because she’d had Kelsey to care for. Kelsey could do the same for Belle. “And I hope you’ll still call me brother if I don’t wear your patch.”
Mason’s head rocked back, but he never took his eyes off Gypsy. “That so?”
“I hope. I’d miss your biting wit otherwise,” Tugboat chimed in from across the table, where he’d also reclaimed his seat.
“You, too, old man?” Mason’s brow furrowed, and he looked like he’d taken a bite out of a lemon. “Leaving me too?”
“Blood.” Tugboat’s word hung in the air and Mason shoved out a heavy sigh, followed by a slow nod.
“I’d like to go on the record here as being the only club on the call not currently asking to patch one of Mason’s men.” Estavez sounded amused. “But Hurley is a possibility, if things continue with my daughter in the way they’ve begun.”
There was a rustling sound from the phone, and then Hurley’s voice, choked with laughter, “Does that mean I can call you Papi?”
“Jesus,” Mason muttered. “How the fuck did we get here?” Myron lifted his head, and Mason gestured sharply. “No, don’t answer. That was rhetorical.”
Gypsy turned to meet Blue Line’s gaze. “We’ll talk,” he said, and Blue Line nodded.
“Goddammed right we will.”
Turning to look around the room, Gypsy took in the expression of grief on Mason’s features. They locked gazes for a moment before Gypsy asked, “This means everything changes, doesn’t it?”
Shaking his head, Mason leaned over to grip Gypsy’s shoulder. “No. No, you fucking asshole, it doesn’t. Nothing changes.” He rocked Gypsy back and forth in his chair, his hold tight and secure. “Brother.”
***
Kelsey
Curled on the bed in the room on loan to her and Gypsy, Kelsey waited for him to return. He’d woken her this morning with a sweet kiss that had promised more. Then he’d groaned and rolled out of bed, stalking towards the bath. While behind the closed door, she’d heard his phone ring, then his deep voice rumbling and echoing. When he’d come out fully dressed, she’d sighed. Another soft kiss, the barest glide of his tongue against her lips and he’d told her he had to go, Mason and Blue Line both had called, and there was a meeting. He’d hesitated then, reaching out to touch the curve of her cheek before turning to walk out.
She lifted a hand and cupped her cheek, remembering the caress of his fingertips.
Kelsey had spent time with Belle, for a long time doing little except being there and listening as Belle talked, recounting the hours she’d spent with Norwood and his men. When Belle finally trailed off, leaning back against Kelsey’s shoulder as she stared up at a corner of the ceiling, Kelsey talked.
She’d spoken in broken cadence, bursts of words escaping as she went back and forth in time, recounting what happened to her. From meeting the man in a coffee shop who had groomed her to be kidnapped, to the moment Nary had shown up, and then back to the beginning days, when there was still a hope she would be purchased, knowing being owned by a stranger was better than being Baxter’s pet.
When she got to the point in her story where Gypsy had burst through the door, Kelsey had paused, wondering if she should keep Gypsy’s secret. Belle had read between the lines, and told her, “Doesn’t matter what he did in the saving of you. What matters is the saving.” In that way, Gypsy’s killing of her tormenter went unspoken, but Kelsey knew Belle understood. He killed for me. Didn’t eve
n know me, and he protected me by risking everything.
Now it was late, and after Belle fell asleep, Kelsey had headed to bed, not knowing when the men would be back. The room came off as too strange, as if the sizes and dimensions had changed throughout the day, the bed now too big for just her. Last night sleeping beside Gypsy had been the best part of normal…right, her space at his side carved out by the hundreds of nights preceding it. Now, Kelsey was small, too small, not taking up enough space, and the bed was too new, no scent of Gypsy hovering like a comforting ghost yet. She had a thought and got out of bed to pad to the bags along the wall. Plucking at the straps holding Gypsy’s closed, she found a shirt of his and lifted it to her face, breathing deeply. Her heart had been hammering, tripping along inside her chest at a rapid pace, until at the familiar scent of Gypsy, it slowed and she felt like she could breathe again.
She stripped off her shirt and was shaking out Gypsy’s when the door opened. Kelsey was locked in place for a moment, terrified because she was naked and she hadn’t heard anyone approaching. But it was Gypsy standing in the doorway, head turned to speak to someone behind him. Blue Line laughed briefly then spoke a quiet, “Sleep well, brother.”
Then Gypsy turned and his eyes caught on her. He’s so handsome. He stared as he slowly closed the door behind him, gaze flicking from where her arm held the shirt pressed against her chest up to her face, and back down. Kelsey dipped her chin and smiled at him before murmuring, “You’re home.”
He tipped his head to the side and smiled at her, one corner of his mouth curling up charmingly. “Yeah, I’m back. What are you doing still up, darlin’?”
Kelsey blinked. She didn’t want to tell him she couldn’t sleep because the pillows didn’t smell like him. He’ll think I’m a right ninny. “Heading to bed now.” As if she hadn’t been lying there sleepless for the past two hours.
Gypsy walked to the dressing table and dropped the contents of his pockets, one handful at a time. He sighed, the sound filled with exhaustion. “I’m tired, baby. Been a long couple of days.” Shrugging off his vest, he folded and draped it over the edge of the surface. Then his hands went to the hem of his shirt. As he lifted his up and off, she attempted to pull the one in her hands over her head. It twisted around and she struggled for a moment to get her arms in right, finally succeeding in pushing her head through the neck hole. Kelsey glanced up to see Gypsy was motionless, hands on the fastening of his jeans, belt already sagging open. He was looking at her reflection in the mirror and she nervously smoothed the shirt down over her hips.
“You’re tired?”
Her question broke the silence and set him into motion. Wordlessly, he turned and, holding his pants in place, walked to the bathroom. The door closed quietly and she stared at it, shocked by what she’d seen. There’d been a definite bulge in his groin area, a crease to his pants that hadn’t been there a moment before. He’d looked at her as she’d gotten dressed, and he’d gotten an erection.
He wants me.
Kelsey took a deep breath, blinking back the suddenly threatening tears. For so long, months, she’d convinced herself he could never want her like she did him. Not after what had happened, the things Baxter and his men had done. She knew he felt protective, wanted to keep her safe, and maybe had some affection for her. But attraction? Not until the past few days had she begun to dream he might feel other than a brother towards her. This, here tonight, though? Full-on erection, straining at the front of his jeans.
Turning the idea over in her head, she stared at the closed door for a long moment toying with the thought of following him. Then with a sigh, she turned and crawled into bed. Lights off, pillows and covers arranged as they normally were, she waited, trying and failing to ignore how fast her heart beat. The bathroom door creaked as if something heavy leaned against it, and then opened. For a moment, the light streamed around Gypsy’s shirtless form, showing her everything he was, all the things she’d memorized about him. Thick thighs leading to a tapered waist, his ribs broadening to where his chest filled the doorframe. Hair down and trailing across his shoulders, this man was everything she could have dreamed for herself.
A click plunged the room into darkness and Kelsey closed her eyes, listening to him walk towards the bed. The edge dipped, mattress shifting underneath her, and a moment later, he gave a relaxed, humming sigh. Fabric rustled, then under the covers a hand grazed her back, rough fingertips followed by his heated palm, confidently stroking up and then down, the repeated motions soothing.
Kelsey shifted, bringing up one knee as she rolled, arching into his touch as she made more of her back available to his tender ministrations. He huffed a laugh, flattening his palm to press harder into her muscles. “Feel good?” His voice was soft, a whisper in the darkness. She rounded her shoulders and pushed back an inch closer to him in mute response and he chuckled.
His palm was rough against the shirt she wore, the fabric catching and pulling tight around her until he’d smooth it out again. Without giving herself time to consider the consequences, Kelsey reached over her shoulder and bunched the garment in her hand. She pulled and yanked it up, his palm suddenly encountering skin. Brought over her head like this, the shirt covered her biceps, but left her back and shoulders bare to his touch.
“Kels?” Still soft, his voice held a question she again answered wordlessly, wiggling the tiniest bit closer to where he lay in the bed beside her. No laughter this time, but his hand moved again, fingers and thumb working the muscles on the upstroke, palm smoothing slowly back down. He shifted around for a minute, and she glanced over her shoulder to see a visible tent over his groin. Touching her in this innocent way had aroused him. She settled back to the mattress, eyes wide, brain racing furiously.
In for a penny.
With slow and deliberate movements, she finished removing the shirt, and shoved it under her pillow. Thumb hooked over the top of the covers, she dragged them down to where they covered her ass, but her naked torso was on display. Gypsy didn’t say a word and his hand never stopped moving, but Kelsey heard the hitch in his breathing, listened as his breaths came faster.
On the next upstroke, it happened. He changed the pattern of his touch, gliding up to the curve of her shoulder and over, then dragged his palm down her arm to her elbow, the backs of his fingers grazing the side of her breast and Kelsey’s chest ached with the sudden sweep of desire that rolled through her.
He shifted around and the heat radiating from his body increased as he eased closer. Most often they slept spooned together, but never with her naked from the waist up. His hand slipped up her back, fingers traced the arc of her neck, then drew a line down to her arm with another teasing touch against her breast. She breathed deeply, licking suddenly dry lips. This is mine to give. Not being taken, not like her first time, or the fiftieth time, or the hundredth time, where men believed it their right to take from her. I’m his, and this is also his.
Gypsy’s hand rested on her waist for a moment, and she wrapped her fingers around it, drawing his arm down in front of her body, pulling him against her. He came without resistance, bare chest nestling against her back warmer than any blanket. Eyes squeezed tightly shut, she bit back a moan when he curled his legs behind hers, and something hard and hot pressed up against her ass. Pulling in another shaky breath, she brought his hand to her chest, directing it palm-first against her breast. Mine to give.
“God.” His response rumbled through her, fingers gripping and kneading. Fingertip met thumb on her nipple with a gentle roll and tug, sending connecting threads of arousal between her legs. She moved restlessly and he groaned, fingers holding her firmly. “Kels.” He didn’t say anything else, just his shortened version of her name on a groan that was a promise. Mine to take. Then his hand tightened on her as his hips thrust forwards, brushing what felt like a heated rod against her ass.
Kelsey twisted to face him, keeping her place in his arms as she lifted her hands to rest one on his cheek, the other against the
carved planes of his chest. Hard muscles tensed at her touch, and a sweet-scented rush of air moved past her face from each panted breath. He held her gaze for a moment. Then his eyes dipped. Pupils dark, half shaded by his lashes, he stared at her breasts, nostrils flaring as his tongue appeared, swiping along his bottom lip. His hand had settled high on her waist and gripped in a primitive rhythm her body recognized. Gypsy’s thumb brushed across her ribs and with pursed lips he blew a chill breath over the skin of her breasts, then licked the full width of his bottom lip before lifting his gaze to capture hers again.
“All you have to do is say no.” She gave him a tiny smile, glad he didn’t ask if she were sure. If he had questioned her readiness, she would have retreated. But because he had trust in her, she gained faith in herself. As it’s always been between us. “Do you know how beautiful you are, Kelsey?” He pushed up on one elbow, rolled her onto her back as he did, and loomed over her. He flipped his head, hair cascading to one side. Eyes on her face, he whispered, “All the time, so gorgeous.” A knuckle brushed the underside of her jaw and he angled her head up as he descended. “So hard to resist taking a taste.” The brush of his lips against hers was light, delicate. Tracing along nerve endings that lit up at the touch, it was a tease of sorts, as much for himself as for her. Another soft brush, then the hot, wet trail of his tongue along her lips. His.
“Don’t resist, then.” Anything else she might have said was lost as he possessed her mouth, tongue spearing between her lips to glide alongside hers. A second stroke, then a third, hard pressure of his lips on hers before he drew back to place tiny kisses on each corner of her mouth. “I want this, Gypsy.” Her palm still rested on his cheek and the scruff of his beard was a grounding contrast against the softness of his kisses.
Gypsy's Lady Page 26